A Postcard Version of White Snow: On Bear Vs. Shark, At the Drive-In, and Protecting Legacies
The scene is a confounding one to take in at face value. I’ve played the video — a tight three minutes that feels either twice as long or short, depending on the type of day I’ve had — well over a hundred times at this point, pouring over its every nonsensical detail. There’s the half-pipe situated in front of what appears to be either a rock climbing wall or an immense, grey structure covered in pockmarks. There’s the smattering of confused onlookers watching the bizarre display from a comfortable distance. In the middle of it all there’s a young man clad in khakis and a period-appropriate bowl cut effectively losing his entire mind, prancing from one end of the ramp to the other, falling onto his stomach, heaving and writhing around in a visceral interpretation of Jack Black’s Angus Young impression from “School of Rock.” The band providing the soundtrack for this man’s rec center exorcism form a tight circle behind him, preemptively preparing themselves in equal parts for a sudden gear malfunction or a projectile frontman. The chaos spins itself steady out of control until, just as easily as it started, it’s all over. A quiet “thank you” is uttered into the microphone. There’s a buzz of modest applause. I click on my browser’s refresh button and realize that my jaw aches from a wide, bewildered smile. I am fourteen years old and Bear Vs. Shark has just become my favorite band.
The role that Bear Vs. Shark has played in my continued fascination and adoration with music, especially the type that exists in confusing fringes and is difficult to pin down stylistically, is something I don’t entirely understand but endlessly appreciate. Each time I’ve been asked what my favorite band is I’ve immediately responded with “Bear Vs. Shark” every single time, followed by a page-long string of runners-up. The common follow-up question, “Why?”, is far more difficult to answer articulately. As much as I adore them, they were far from the greatest band that ever existed. Far from it, actually. In the pantheon of Earth shattering, genre defying bands who have stood the test of time as undeniable influences on the trajectory of rock music, I think Bear Vs. Shark gets laughed out of the conversation altogether. As long as I’ve been listening to them, however, that quality is something that makes them all the more special to my still-naive ears. The music that Bear Vs. Shark makes is difficult — in the way it presents itself, in the way it resolves, in the way it draws from and pays homage to its era and influences, etc. — and the inherent difficulty found in their music sets them drastically apart from the band they’re so often slotted next to: At the Drive-In
Perhaps the dialogue was different in their heyday, but the hegemony that a band like At the Drive-In currently holds over the utterly saccharine 2000’s naval-gazing raging its way through music writing is nauseating to me. At the Drive-In, a band I plan on writing several pieces about in the near future, is another band that played an undeniably important role in my development as a lover of music. Albums like “Acrobatic Tenement,” “Relationship of Command,” the “El Gran Orgo” EP and, to a slightly lesser extent, “In/Casino/Out” are far and away some of the most defining records of my life. Still, in order to truly love and appreciate the things that resonate with and captivate us as music listeners, we must be able to critique and acutely analyze them. At the Drive-In was hardly under appreciated in their initial run: They were signed to Fearless Records, a label owned by Concord Bicycle Music (See: Paul McCartney, Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra, CCR, etc.) and distributed by Universal Music Group. They enjoyed countless successful tours of all levels of scale, from basement runs with KARP (another band on my writing docket) to a series of shows with Jimmy Eat World. They recorded a phenomenal record with Ross Robinson (a fact they love to bemoan to this day, perplexingly). They got fucking Iggy Pop for a few “Relationship of Command” songs. By the time they finally called it quits, it was significantly less because of their frustration with their own success and the state of underground rock music, as so many music writers love to wax poetic about, and more because of a cocktail of drug abuse and mental exhaustion. Touring nonstop for 5+ years tends to do that to you.
This digression is not meant to attack ATDI but rather point out where a band like Bear Vs. Shark shines in that band’s muddled legacy. While Bear Vs. Shark and ATDI followed similar paths as bands, ATDI has been canonized into post-hardcore sainthood in the years following their breakup while Bear Vs. Shark has been sporadically acknowledged as a funny little Equal Vision band with a frenetic singer, and not much more than that. This distinction, made largely by the music press and in other parts by kids being handed down records like “Relationship of Command” in tandem with ATDI’s overblown mythology, feels premature. Perhaps we should have waited a few years, taken notes from lukewarm reunions from bands like Refused, before we decided that it was necessary to revive ATDI’s bloated corpse. Their sterile, wholly disappointing 2012 Coachella performance felt like a warning shot and an especially stinging “Is this really what you want?” moment. After the mixed reception their initial reunion received, the recent announcement of a world tour and new music fell on my ears with a dull thud.
When overzealous writers fall over themselves to sing the highest praises of a band who reached their peak over a decade ago, we confuse and corrupt their legacies. Regardless of what ATDI’s motivations are for pumping the well entirely dry, their resurgence in the public eye adds an ugly wrinkle to a band who could have faded into a noble moment in music history. Now we have pre and post 2012 ATDI: a vital, interesting band who released a string of vicious, energetic records and had an unparalleled live performance versus a band coaxed back onto the stage by well-meaning music consumers confused about what they really want. Which brings us back to Bear Vs. Shark. Aside from a sarcastic post on singer Marc Paffi’s post-BVS band Bars of Gold’s Facebook page, there has been no indication of a Bear Vs. Shark reunion. There also hasn’t really been too high of a demand for one either, apart from the pipe dreams of a fanbase who 60% of probably saw them play already in 2005.
I hope against hope that Bear Vs. Shark never gets back together. Of course I would love to see them, hear the finger-tapped intro to “5, 6 Kids” played in front of me, submit myself to the chaotic sprawl of tracks like “Bloodgiver” and “Rich People Say Fuck Yeah Hey Hey,” experience all the physical sensations I’ve had vicariously through scouring YouTube concert footage. My love for Bear Vs. Shark is one that exists in a unique vacuum. While their songs, records and performances have stuck with me for close to a decade now, it’s impossible for me to separate them from how they operate in my perception. They will forever be thrashing around in tiny clubs, basements and community spaces in my mind because they exist in a time and space that can’t be replicated. While a chance to see them live in 2016 would inevitably reduce me to a pile of tears and bittersweet nostalgia, has any band ever successfully caught lightning in a bottle twice? Has any band ever done it after 10+ years of developing as people separated from the songs you used to play by growth and distance? Why do we, as lovers of art, culture and music, keep assuming it’s possible? Perhaps some things are truly, completely impossible. Perhaps that’s one of the most profoundly beautiful things about music; knowing, in that special style of knowing that avoids all analysis and critical distinction, that something can never happen again.
This is not going to be the last time I write about the Michigan quintet who moved me in all ways monumental, abstract and arbitrary. I never had the chance to see them live and yet their music touches me in a way that bands I love and have seen perform have never come close to. There’s a Bear Vs. Shark song that was never recorded, only played live, titled “Start Small Great Destroyer.” After having been in bands for the past five years, I can only assume it was one of many that never made it to the studio. Two video recordings of the song being performed do exist, however: A low quality one from the same Equal Visions Record showcase that contained the first performance mentioned in this article, and a much higher quality one from what appears to be a large basement show. It contains so many of the things I love about Bear Vs. Shark — a simple, almost sinisterly childlike melody echoed from a tiny synth, Marc Paffi’s rapid-fire, barking vocals, a warm, winding bass-line, a swelling buildup and a gentle comedown. It’s one of my favorite Bear Vs. Shark songs and I’ve never heard it outside of a YouTube tab in my web browser. I think about it all the time and I wasn’t even there. Isn’t that something worth cherishing in itself?
